Chapter 3: Summer

Heat from the kitchen drifted through the hardwood, warming my feet and signaling me for dinner. I always knew when a meal was being cooked. This floor conducted heat like a metal rod in a thunderstorm. I gave up on unpacking the latest box of books onto an already full bookshelf and headed for the kitchen. The scent of hot food made my stomach rumble.

I rounded the staircase, nearing the bottom when I heard boots stomping against the welcome mat below me.

“Uncle Frank,” I called, zipping down the last few steps and launching myself at him.

Frank grunted but held firm. Years of manual labor had taken its toll on his aging body, and I knew there was muscle hidden behind all that flannel. “Goodness, girl, what do they feed you up at that big fancy school? You must’ve gained a ton.”

“Either that or I’m not six anymore.” I laughed and pulled back so I could look up at him. His leathery cheeks had a few more fine lines, but otherwise, he looked the same. The sight of him was familiar and comforting, and though he wasn’t blood related, he’d been my dad’s best friend and surrogate family for so long, no one remembered we weren’t related.

He squinted at me. “Coulda’ fooled an old man. Every time I look at ya I still see a gap-toothed smile.”

I punched him lightly as my attention was drawn to the sight of another familiar face coming through the front door. His cheeks were scruffier than the last time I’d seen him. His hair was longer, too.

“Hey, sis,” he said, grinning at me as the storm door slammed shut behind him.

“Casey,” I squealed, launching myself at him even harder than I’d done with Frank. I wanted to knock this one off balance, just for bragging rights. But Casey caught me easily and swung me up, lifting my feet off the ground and spinning a full circle. By the time he set me down again, it was half-hug, half-wrestling match and we were both laughing.

“Glad you’re back. Been way too quiet around here without you,” Casey said, finally letting me go and straightening his shirt.

Pots banged together in the kitchen and someone—a male—let out a string of curses followed quickly by an apology. I gave an exaggerated eye roll. “You were saying?”

Casey grinned. “Guess Mazie’s getting the newbies to do the dishes again.”

“Must mean food’s almost ready,” Frank said, rubbing his hands together and setting off toward the kitchen.

Before I could move to follow, Casey reached out and wound his arm around my neck, pulling my cheek against his collarbone. But I was too familiar with Casey’s tricks to be caught. I ducked out before he could yank me close enough to press his knuckles to my scalp.

“You get faster up there in the big city?” he asked.

“Or you got slower living down here in the country,” I shot back.

“You two are relentless,” Frank said.

“Not our fault,” Casey protested.

“How do you figure?” Frank asked.

“The way I see it, if you and Dean hadn’t stuck us together since we were in diapers, we might’ve been able to curb the sibling rivalry long enough to be nice to each other.”

“So it’s my fault, then?” Frank demanded.

I stifled a smile. It was an old argument between them—one that both men seemed to enjoy since neither ever got legitimately mad at the other over it.

Frank went on, his voice rising, “I should’ve let you be raised by strangers instead of your own uncle? Your own flesh and blood?”

“Of course it’s your fault, Frank,” Casey said, the details too long gone for him to be ruffled by the reference to his parents’ accident. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. You and Summer and the rest—you’re my family.” He punched the older man lightly on the arm and Frank scowled, but I saw the expression smoothing into something like affection as Frank turned away.

I exhaled, some of the tension inside me melting off at being surrounded by people I loved. They might not be blood, but Frank was the only uncle I’d ever known, Casey more like a brother. I wouldn’t trade them for anyone.

As I stepped through the doorway, my eyes fell on the empty seat at the far end of the table. The one right next to my dad’s usual spot. A sharp pang shot through my gut but I shook it off. I wouldn’t think of her now. Not with all the hustle and bustle and familiar faces waiting. I could think of it in the quietness of my bed tonight—and every night after if needed.

“Summer!” Mazie, our housekeeper, pushed past the others crowding the kitchen and hurried forward, holding her arms out. I stepped into the circle of her arms and inhaled the scent of garlic and dish soap that was Mazie Pagonis.

The older woman squeezed tight and then quickly pulled away with a frown. “You’ve lost weight, Paidi mou,” she said, her Greek accent faded after so many years on Virginia soil.

I smiled. Paidi mou, in Greek, meant ‘my child.’ It had been Mazie’s pet name for me since I was little. “I’m fine,” I assured her.

Mazie clucked her tongue, going on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re wasting away. Good thing I made pasta tonight. It will stick to your insides. Casey!”

Behind her, Casey jumped. “What?”

“Carry the bread rolls to the table.” Casey moved toward the counter but Mazie stopped him with a reproachful look. “Wash your hands first.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Casey switched directions, heading for the sink.

“It smells delicious,” I told her.

“Good. I expect you to eat like it,” she said.

Mazie hurried away, rattling off instructions to the nearest body to help her with the heavy lifting. Pans and platters were lifted from the oven by willing arms, all belonging to hungry crew unlucky enough to have arrived early for the meal. Mazie didn’t believe in idle hands.

Dean Stafford employed only one year-round, full-time man to help oversee the affairs of Heritage Plantation—although Frank Connors could make enough noise for ten men on his own—but many part-timers came and went during the growing season. And the standing rule was that if you were here at closing time and your belly was empty, there was always a place at the table for you. It wasn’t a surprise most of them made sure to be here come quittin’ time. Mazie’s cooking wasn’t something to miss.

“Hey, Summer,” someone called.

“Hey, Joe,” I said, smiling and waving as a stocky Puerto Rican carried a steaming dish to the table for Mazie. His dark hair had been buzzed short, something he always did in the summertime. “How are Leslie and the kids?” I asked.

“Jealous I stayed here for dinner,” he said with a wicked grin. I laughed. “Leslie’s working at that new jewelry store in town. She says you should stop in and say hi. Says it’s been too long since you two caught up.”

“I will. I haven’t seen her since … last Thanksgiving.”

He set the dish down and lowered himself into a chair beside it. “Has it been that long? Huh.” I nodded, hoping he wouldn’t press it. “Time flies,” was all he said.

I let it go.

When I’d come home for Christmas break and found out about my parents, I’d shut myself off from everyone in order to deal with the shock of their divorce. I hadn’t really reached out to anyone from my old life since. Now, there was no escaping it. I’d known that when I’d come home. Still, I would probably put it off as long as possible. Even with Leslie, my best friend from high school. I loved her, but that girl asked way too many questions. I wasn’t ready with answers just yet.

By the time my dad came through the back door, black earth covering his hands, I’d greeted everyone and given hugs. Not a single person mentioned my absent mother or asked me why I’d come home instead of staying in the big city like I’d always told them I planned. I appreciated them for that.

“Dean Stafford, you better wash that grub off before going near my dinner table,” Mazie said, shaking a sauce-covered spoon at Dad.

Dad wiggled his fingers menacingly, and Mazie backed away muttering Greek phrases better left un-translated. Dad laughed as he went to the sink and stuck his hands under the water.

Conversation flowed between mouthfuls of pasta, everyone laughing and teasing and easy in each other’s company. It was oddly un-awkward considering it was my first company meal with the empty chair.

Around a mouthful of garlic bread, I heard the screen door kick shut and shot Casey a curious look. He didn’t answer, opting instead for another forkful of casserole. The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. I watched as Casey’s gaze was drawn over my shoulder.

“Someone’s late to the party,” I said, turning in my chair. I expected to see another familiar face joining the group, someone I knew from past summers on the farm. I was surprised to find a stranger instead, though that wasn’t what had my eyes widening and my torso stuck in the swiveled position.